“Yes, do so, and let me know what you think of it.”

This was the letter: 

“SOPHIA:  I have received your letter, and am surprised that you should expect me to help support you.  You are my brother’s widow, it is true, but your destitution is no fault of mine.  My brother was always shiftless and unpractical, and to such men good luck never comes.  He might at any rate have insured his life, and so made comfortable provision for you.  You cannot expect me to repair his negligence.  You say you have two boys, one eleven years of age.  He is certainly able to earn money by selling papers or tending an office.

“As for myself, I am not a rich man, but have always been careful to meet my expenses and provide for the future.  I, too, have a son, Conrad, whom I think it my duty to educate and start in life.  Any money I might send you would be so much taken from him.  I advise you to apply to some charitable society if you need temporary assistance.  It will be much better than to write me begging letters.  Yours truly,

    “PHILEMON CARTER.”

“This is a very cold-blooded letter,” said Andy, indignantly.  “He might at least have inclosed a five-dollar bill.”

“He inclosed nothing.  I shall never apply to him again.”

“Philemon Carter is considered to be one of the richest men in Arden.  He is taxed for twenty-five thousand dollars, and is probably worth double that sum.  People wonder where he got all his money.”

“A part of it is my husband’s rightful share of the estate, I have no doubt.”

“Can you do nothing about it?”

“How can I?  I am poor and have no influential friends.  He denies everything.”

“I will think of that, Mrs. Carter.  I know a lawyer down town who may some time look into the matter for you.  In the meanwhile, is there any special work you can do?”

“Before I was married I was for a time a typewriter.”

“I will see if I can hear of a situation of that kind.  The lawyer I spoke of may require an operator.”

“I would thankfully accept such a position.”

“Does Ben earn anything?”

“He makes a little selling papers.”

“He ought to be going to school at his age.”

“If I could get any work to do I would send him.”

“Mrs. Carter, will you accept a little help from me?”

Andy drew a five-dollar bill from his pocketbook and tendered it to the widow.

“But,” she said, “can you spare this?  It is a large sum, and you are only a boy, probably not earning much.”

“I am a boy, but I am handsomely paid for my services.  Besides, I have good friends to whom I can apply if I run short of money.”

“Heaven bless you!” said Mrs. Carter, earnestly.  “You cannot tell how much good this money will do me.  This morning I was utterly discouraged.  I felt that the Lord had forsaken me.  But I was mistaken.  He has raised up for me a good friend, who—­”